Angel Boy
by IndigoCaress
Summary: Formerly posted under pen name Lucky Star. Revamped version. Check it out. Simon dscovers a longkept family secret that sends him on a downward spiral...because Simon Angst is a beautiful thing ;) Please R&R Chapter 2 now up. Simon hangs out with a friend
1. Secrets And Lies

Angel Boy (1/?)  
  
A 7th Heaven Fan Fic by CeruleanOctober (formerly Lucky Star)  
  
Disclaimer: Not mine, just borrowed. Don't sue, just read.  
  
A/N: I hate that I have to start with an apology, but to all my readers, I must say I am sorry for leaving my fics hanging several months ago. Hopefully you'll give me another chance, and I won't disappoint…  
  
Okay. Now to the story. I have decided to go back to the beginning with a couple of the fics. I felt I had backed myself into a corner with Angel Boy, so I'm giving it a fresh start..  
  
Angel Boy  
  
Chapter 1/?  
  
I wake up to a house shrouded in total silence. And I want to savor the moment, so I slip out from under the covers, and wander through the house, enjoying the uncommon quiet. No one is home. Dad's in meetings all day, Mom took the twins to visit Mrs. Bink. Lucy took Ruthie to the mall. All of them are meeting for dinner later.  
  
I find myself in Mom and Dad's room, and I know I shouldn't snoop around, but I can't help myself. There's a moldy, musty smell in the air, and I want to know what it's from. There's a box on the floor by Mom's side of the bed. It's battered, the corners smashed down.   
  
I move closer, slowly, as if I'm afraid something will jump out and bite me. Maybe I am, but. this is it, the box is the source of the musty smell. It's probably been in the attic for years.  
  
I open the top, even more cautiously. It's just photo albums and a lock box. I try to box first. Of course it is locked. Maybe that's why it's called a lock box.  
  
The first book I pull out of the box is a scrap book. The cover shows a picture of a very pregnant Mom. I open it, an read the date. 1985. The year she was pregnant with me. I turn back to the front picture and stare at the roundness of her belly. I'm not sure I've ever seen a picture of her pregnant with me.   
  
I opened the book again, turned the page. She started documenting her feelings the day she found out she was pregnant. I would be the fourth child, with a brother and two sisters leading the way. Mom wrote about wanting the baby to be a boy, but also said she didn't really care as long as it was healthy.  
  
In August, she wrote about two heart beats. Two babies. Twins. I double checked the date, even though I knew it said 1985, and she was writing about being pregnant with me, not Sam and David.   
  
I feel dizzy. Light headed. Weak. Unbalanced. Uncentered. Even the air has a surreal quality. Thicker. Heavier.  
  
I take a deep breath. I'll keep reading because there has to be an explanation. The doctor must have been wrong.   
  
Mom wrote about having twins almost every day, along with notes about the other kids, and how she felt too heavy and fat and bloated to do play with them. She wrote about Matt's struggles at school, Mary's kindergarten scuffles, Lucy's moping all day because Matt and Mary were in school.   
  
I force myself to read every word. I don't want to miss a thing. And sooner or later, the doctor will have to tell her he was wrong about the two heart beats.  
  
But August turned to September, then October, and November…and still she wrote about having twins. She was already fatter than she had been with Matt or Mary or Lucy. She'd gained more weight, felt more nauseous and miserable.   
  
Several times I caught myself closing my eyes. The book slid out of my lap. How could this be? I had a twin? How? What happened to him?  
  
"I died," a voice says. I jump, and turn to look over my shoulder. Nothing. I shake my head, to clear it. The voice was in my head. I know it was. I've heard it before. Many times.  
  
I can't stand it anymore. I flip the pages to February. I have to know what happened.   
  
iFebruary 8, 1986  
  
It's time. I've been through it before. I know the signs. I'll go to the hospital tomorrow, or maybe in the middle of the night. The Colonel and Ruth are here to stay with Matt and the girls.  
  
Eric is asleep. Snoring. I wish I could be that relaxed. I haven't slept well for seven months. I've barely slept at all the last few weeks. I'm too fat. But it will all be worth it when I hold my beautiful babies in my arms.   
  
/i  
  
The next entry is dated February 26, three weeks later. I was born on the ninth.   
  
iI have just fed Simon for the first time from my breast. I'd forgotten how much it hurts. His grip brought tears to my eyes and I nearly couldn't take it. But I would suffer any pain for him.   
  
Dr. Harris said he may have to go back on the feeding tube. I told him I don't think that will be necessary. He had a little trouble figuring out what to do, but it didn't take long…He's strong and he's going to be fine. He has to be fine.  
  
He's so small. Barely four pounds now. Dr. Harris says that's great. He's gained more than a pound already.  
  
Joshua lived just seventeen minutes. Seventeen beautiful, agonizing minutes. We knew he was dying, and there was no point in putting him on machines. The nurses took Simon away, because Simon had a chance, but he needed intensive care. Joshua might live an hour, two hours, maybe a day o a week on the ventilator. But to what end?   
  
The decision had been the hardest choice I ever had to make.  
  
I held him in my arms, with Eric's arms around both of us. Crying, kissing him, whispering to him, telling him in seventeen minutes how much we loved him, promising him we would take care of his brother.   
  
I couldn't even hold Simon before they put him in the incubator. Holding him today…There is nothing in the world that can compare. Not even holding the others when they were first born. We nearly lost Matt, but he was born healthy and strong. Both girls were healthy and beautiful.  
  
Simon will be okay. He's off the feeding tube, and he should be out of intensive care by the end of the week. So far so good.  
  
Welcome to the world, Simon Joshua Camden. My Angel Boy./i  
  
My hands are trembling. I feel sick. I don't even think I can stand up. My knees are shaking. I have to hold on to something, anything, to keep from falling down.   
  
Seventeen minutes. I had a twin brother for seventeen minutes.   
  
"I've always been here, you know." It's that voice again. The one in my head. My brother's voice. And he's here, standing near the bathroom door. But it's not real. It can't be real. He's not real. But I see him. I see him standing there. He looks just like me. He's wearing my jeans, a T-shirt, a plaid button down open in the front.   
  
"You're not real!" I yell. My voice sounds weird. Strained. I push my hands against my eyes. And he's gone. He's gone because he was never there.  
  
I barely make it to the toilet before the bile rises in my throat.  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
End chapter one. Please read and review. It means so much… 


	2. Sweet Oblivion

Angel Boy (2/?)  
  
A 7th Heaven Fan Fiction by CeruleanOctober  
  
See chapter 1 for disclaimers and such.  
  
This fic is leaning toward a Joan Of Arcadia crossover, just so you know. That won't happen for several chapters, but it is in the cards.  
  
Angel Boy  
  
Chapter 2/?  
  
"And?" Connor asks, his eyes wide.   
  
I shrug. "And then I heard the car in the driveway, so I went to my room and pretended I'd been asleep all afternoon."  
  
"You didn't say anything to them?"  
  
"What could I say? 'Oh, hey, Mom. Dad. I was snooping around in your room and I found your diary, Mom. So, why didn't you tell me about my twin brother?'"  
  
He looks perplexed at that. I sigh. He looks at the ground, digs his toe in the dirt. "So, ah, what are you going to do now?"  
  
I catch myself shrugging again. And sighing. "I don't know. I don't really want to go home. They lied to me. My whole life. It's all a lie. I wish I was old enough to leave."  
  
"Well, you could come to my house for a little while. I have something that might help you forget how angry and unsettled you feel."  
  
Angry and unsettled. That's exactly how I feel. "Okay," I say, even though I know it's probably drugs he's talking about and I don't want to do drugs. But maybe just going home with him, hanging out with him, will be enough.   
  
And maybe I'm wrong about the drug thing. Connor isn't a druggie. I don't know why I even thought that. He wouldn't have drugs, wouldn't offer drugs to me. And he has to know I wouldn't take them if he did offer them.   
  
Whiskey on the other hand…looks really tempting. Connor puts the glass in front of me, a dark, mysterious looking liquid. He tells me there are no answers in the bottom of the glass, only sweet oblivion. No answers, and no questions either.  
  
So I take a sip. Just a sip. And it burns. Like fire. All the way down. But in a weird way it feels good too. Like a peacefulness washing over me. It spreads through me. Warm, soothing.   
  
I emptied the glass, and Connor refilled it before I could form the words to ask.  
  
My parents would kill me if they knew what I am doing. And for the first time in my life I don't care. I don't care what the think. I don't care if I've suddenly become the biggest disappointment in their lives. I just don't care.  
  
I don't care if I never see them again. I never want to see any of them. Ever. Not my parents, not Matt or Mary or Lucy who must have known there were two babies. The had to know. How could they not know? And I don't want to see Ruthie or Sam and David. I really don't want to see Sam and David.  
  
How could my parents keep this from me? They should have told me. Especially after Sam and David were born. How could they watch me with them, holding them, playing with them, fascinated by them? How could they watch me with them, my little twin brothers., and not tell me about my own twin?  
  
I wondered if they would have called him Joshua or just Josh. Probably Joshua. I would have called him Josh. And he would have been popular, one of the cool kids at school. Like Connor.  
  
Connor promised sweet oblivion in the whiskey. No answers, no questions. But my mind seemed sharper, more aware. And suddenly aware that he is here. Sitting across from me at Connor's kitchen table.   
  
I look around, frantically, over my shoulder. Connor is gone. It's just me an…and him. Josh.   
  
"You shouldn't be doing that."  
  
"I want to."  
  
"Why?"  
  
I stare at him. I can not believe I am talking to him. "Shut up. You're not real." His eyes are lighter than mine. Almost clear blue. Iridescent.  
  
"Then why are you talking to me?"  
  
"Because…because…I'm not. Okay. I'm not talking to you." Wherever Connor went he must have taken the whiskey with him. I stand. There must be more. Maybe in the pantry. Bingo. A whole shelf of bottles. Whiskey, rum, vodka. Everything. And I want it all.  
  
"What are you doing?"  
  
"I'm thirsty."  
  
"Sit down."   
  
I look over my shoulder. Connor. No Josh. I sigh and sit back down at the table.  
  
"You want something stronger?"  
  
I nod. "I want that sweet oblivion you were talking about."  
  
"Give it time." He pulls several bottles out, puts them on the counter.   
  
"How long?"  
  
"Not long. Here. Drink this." He hands me a new glass.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
My head hurts. Really hurts. Hurts so bad I want to die. Someone please, put a pillow over my face and let me die. I don't want to open my eyes. I can tell the room is spinning. I feel like I'm on a merry-go-round and it's spinning out of control.  
  
I feel a hand on my forehead. I crack one eye open. No one is there. Duh. It's my hand. I close the eye. And then panic thunders through me. Where am I? This isn't my room, not my bed. I have no idea where I am.   
  
I try to sit up and open my eyes at the same time. Big mistake. My stomach heaves. I press my hand to my mouth, but it's no use. And once I've puked, I fall back on the pillows.  
  
"Welcome back to the land of the living," a voice I know but can't place assaults my ears. I don't dare open my eyes. "How do you feel."  
  
"Dead."  
  
"I bet." The hand on my forehead now is not my own. Connor. "You need a shower."  
  
"I can't move."  
  
"Well, you have to. You need a shower, then I have to get you home."  
  
Home. Mom. Dad. Lies.   
  
"Just let me die."  
  
"Ha. You wish. Come on. Get up."  
  
"I don't think that's such a good idea."  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
End chapter 2. Please R/R. You know you want to. Just take a couple seconds, hit review, and let me know what you think. Thanks! 


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